As I kept staring at the man I was on my way to track down, something peculiar happened. My father’s image seemed to move and turn his head. At first I thought I had imagined it; my eyes were probably glazing over from looking at the picture so long and hard. I rubbed my eyes. No, my father’s image had definitely turned. He was now looking directly at me and not at my mother, as he had been before.
I gasped and dropped the picture. “How is this even possible?” I said under my breath. I could see Mom off in the distance, returning with two extra-large coffees from Tim Hortons. I quickly bent over, picked up the photo, and shoved it back into my messenger bag without looking at it for a second time. If Mom knew I had this picture, let alone knew about my mission, I didn’t know how she would react. Would she be worried or upset? Or would she feel threatened that I now wanted to find out more about the man who was part of my genetic makeup?
“Scotia, are you okay?” Mom asked when she was close enough for me to hear her. I could see the concern clouding her face.
“S-sure, Mom, why do you ask?” I stammered.
“Well, you’re as white as a ghost and you seem to be sweating just a little bit, not to mention the fact that I was calling you several times before you even acknowledged me.”
“I forgot to eat before we left. Maybe my blood sugar is a little low,” I answered, trying to compose myself.
“No, that’s not it, but I can’t seem to understand your expression right now,” Mom said with skepticism.
She had a sixth sense when it came to me and always seemed to know my true feelings about things. Like the time when I was twelve and had just kissed my first boy. I remember walking home with a spring in my step and the biggest grin spread across my face. The minute I entered the door, Mom turned to me and with a smile said, “Hmmm, I’m guessing little Peter Barrington has the exact same reason to smile.” I was dumbfounded.
At this point, I could only hope that my transparent nature did not give away the true purpose of my trip. I could not face the resulting questions and disapproval.
“Well, I guess I am a little anxious about my trip,” I lied.
“Hmmmm.”
“Really, Mom, it’s nothing. Look, the line is moving,” I said, hoping that my attempt to change the subject would allay her suspicions. But I could tell that my diversion had had no effect, as Mom was still looking at me doubtfully. She followed me as I inched forward.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Mom whispered. From the inflection and tone of her voice, it almost seemed as though she knew the real reason I was heading abroad. But if she did, why had she not said anything?
“No, Mom, honestly, I’m fine. I’m just going to miss you terribly.”
“Oh honey, I’ll miss you too…but I’ll be right here waiting for you when you return.”
“I know,” I whispered.
“Here, I want you to take this and keep it close to you at all times.” Mom fished into her brown leather purse and pulled out a tiny, pink, crystal angel on a silver necklace.
“Mom, it’s beautiful!” I exclaimed.
“It’s not much, but you are my little angel, and I want you to have a piece of me while you go off on your adventure…” Mom trailed off. She unhooked the clasp on the necklace and gently placed it around my neck. I could smell her scent; she always smelled like lavender, so calming and soothing. I grabbed a hold of Mom and gave her a huge hug. She was a fantastic mother, always giving me everything I had ever wanted and more. As I looked into her soft hazel eyes, I felt guilty for the lies, but knew this was the way it had to be. I hoped that she would find a way to forgive my deceit when the truth came out.
“Scotia, I love you so much…be safe, darling.”
“Mom, you worry too much. I will.”
I was growing increasingly impatient with the slow movement of the line when someone Mom knew walked by.
“George,” she yelled.
“Samantha, what on earth are you doing here?” George exclaimed.
“Scotia is on her way to London, if she makes her plane,” Mom stated matter-of-factly, as she pointed to the enormous line in front of us.
“No problem, follow me.”
George was an astonishingly handsome older man. He had salt and pepper colouring to his black hair, and his eyes were an amazing shade of green against his pale skin. He seemed to radiate an aura of peace and tranquility, and you felt relieved to be in his presence. Mom did not have a lot of close friends and I am sure I would have remembered this man. In any case, I now became aware that George was wearing a British Airways captain’s uniform. Nice, I thought. Hopefully George would speed us to the front of the line. Actually, what happened next was incredible. George was familiar with the ticketing agent at the British Airways counter, and she was in charge of the first-class check-in section.
“Amanda, darling, this is Samantha and her daughter,” George announced.
Amanda glared at Mom through her Andy Warhol glasses. “Oh,” was all she could muster.
From the way that Amanda “darling” was staring at Mom, the phrase “if looks could kill” popped into my head. I could not help but feel a little proud that my mom could evoke such a primal response. She was my mom, of course, but she was also an incredibly beautiful woman, and most men stopped dead in their tracks when she passed by. It could have been the combination of her jet black hair juxtaposed with her hazel eyes. Mom’s eyes often changed from green to brown, and sometimes to blue, to depending on the colour of outfit she chose to wear. Whatever the trigger, men found her and her eyes compelling. If you looked deep into them you were…well, mesmerized. In addition to Mom’s beauty, the air of reassurance that she projected was infectious, similar to the feelings I experienced when I met George.
“Yes, and her daughter will be flying with us. Can you get her upgraded to first-class status and fast-track her through the queue?” George’s voice broke my train of thought.
“Oh, Mr…” I stuttered.
George chuckled. “George, dear girl, just call me George.”
His English accent was silky-smooth and dreamlike.
“Umm…okay, George, you don’t have to do that,” I said, embarrassed.
George looked over at my mom and winked. “Anything for Samantha.”
I suspected that George was used to getting people, especially women, to do anything he wanted. As much as I seemed to like George, there was something peculiar about him that I could not pinpoint. He seemed to sense my suspicions about him because at that moment he inched closer to Amanda.
Amanda shifted in her seat and seemed to act as though George had just placed her under some kind of spell. George whispered something into Amanda’s ear and she giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Anything for you, George,” Amanda responded coyly.
“Brilliant!” George remarked as he slammed
